An Unusual Christmas Gift
by Robin Pendragon
Summary: Behold the birth of the unheard of, and only imagined in my head, relationship between a human sniper maid and a flamboyant drow mercenary. (A very crossed-fandom relationship between two fandoms I love, and obviously my insanity.)
1. Chapter 1

**Yes this is a major cross. I don't own anything. Except for owning up to my crazy ideas.**

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The snowy streets were crowded with people trying to get their Christmas shopping finished on time. The servants were given two hours to go do theirs. Mey Rin walked alone, Finny and Bard each going their separate ways, as they were on a quest to find each others' gifts. She tightened her scarf around her neck and over her nose, ear muffs secure, coat keeping her warm, and a hat protecting her glasses from the falling snow.

Everywhere she turned she saw a busy street. Parents holding their children's hands, children looking through windows pointing at toys they wanted, older couples holding each other's hands.

Every store had something to offer, and she had completed her shopping within the first hour. The only left was Finny.

It was hard to find something for Finny that he might enjoy year-round. Then she spotted it. At the distance, where the crowd had thinned, not even a part of the streets anymore, but as if going into the snowy woods, as if by magic, a single yellow rose stood amid the snowy ground. It rebelled against its surroundings, fighting a million to one odds, growing there, blooming where it should not have been.

Mey Rin was not too familiar with flowers, but she knew it should not have been there. Nor should she have walked toward it. It was as though something dragged her there. Her feet moved on their own toward the yellow beauty, which up close looked even more beautiful than far away, despite her being able to see better detail at a distance.

She reached out her hand to touch it when the deep male voice stopped her.

"What do you think you're doing love?"

She jumped, looking around. The disembodied voice seemed to come from nowhere, and for a second she believed she was going crazy.

As much as she looked around she saw that she was alone. She was near the entrance of the woods after all, there were no shops here, no houses. Those were all quite a few yards away. She panicked realizing that she had walked quite a bit, and thought perhaps she better be making her way back.

"Not thinking of leavin so soon are you?"

The sound of someone leaping from somewhere above and landing before her nearly made her scream. In fact she did scream, but no sooner had she opened her mouth than it had been covered by the dark hand of the creature who now stood behind her.

The maid's heartbeat quickened. He wasn't human, that much she could tell by how fast he was. What was he?

"Now if I let you go you must promise not to scream, well... not until I want you to anyway," there was a slight mockery in his voice. Mey Rin was shocked but said nothing.

He let her go as silently promised, and she turned around to face him.

She might have been afraid, had he not looked so absolutely...

her mind struggled to find the right words...

_Magical._

Out in the middle of the snow he wore nothing but pants, a thin linen shirt, vest, and a very grandiose hat such as she'd never seen. He wore an eyepatch, like the Young Master. His ears were pointed. His eyes were lined by white lashes, like the snow itself was lining them, and he looked like a creature from those fairy tales one only hears or dreams about. His thin linen shirt was slightly unbuttoned, revealing a perfectly chiseled body underneath, and when she noticed that she had to turn away, her cheeks red.

But perhaps the feature that she liked the most was his dark skin. It was not a complexion she had ever seen before on anybody. It was a very different dark. It contrasted wonderfully with his lashes and brows, and appeared to have not a flaw on him.

"_Beautiful.._." the single word escaped her lips in a whisper, before she gained the use of her mental faculties again and her hands flew to cover her mouth only too late.

He grinned. "One could say the same thing about you," he took a step forward, she took one back, tinge on her cheeks darkening.

"What's your name?" he took her hand without asking, her eyes widened, her voice getting stuck in her throat.

She swallowed hard, "M-M-Mey Rin, s-sir..."

"_Mey Rin_," he repeated, taking another step forward, her taking another step back. The rich sound of his voice made her name sound so much more pleasant than it usually did. The maid felt her heart fluttering. "_How lovely,_" another step, and she tried to take another step back only to find herself backed against a tree.

"I am Jarlaxle Baenre," he said, kissing her hand softly, the act sending shivers up the maid's spine. She turned her head to avoid looking at him, in hopes of finding her voice again.

"P-Pleasure to meet you Mister Baenre..." she continued to look sideways.

"Is that how you greet people now? Didn't your elders teach you better manners?" he sounded as though he was teasing again.

"S-s-sorry!" she took her hand away, somehow managing to step sideways out of the little corner he'd trapped her in between himself and the tree.

"I-I have to go!" she took a few steps back, as if to make sure he was staying in the same spot, bowed a little, and then turned around to hurry away, her heart pounding and feeling like it would pop out of her chest.

Jarlaxle watched her hurry away, chuckling to himself. By the time the maid was far enough away to even think of turning around safely he was out of sight, along with the yellow rose.


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own anything. Except for owning up to my crazy ideas. Smut maybe, maybe later, because it's Jarlaxle and Meyrin, which makes for two really active sex drives. **

**Yes, yes it does. **

**Don't argue with me on this. **

**If you're reading this you might know the lewd thoughts Meyrin probably has like all the time, and if you're reading this you might know the same about our drow friend, who BTW is much cooler than any other drow in the world of RAS. But that's just like my opinion.**

**Again, I am insane for writing this. I feel like the hardcore RAS followers will hate me for it, but IDK.**

**A note about the yellow rose, because I had a couple of questions about what it meant. I take blooming roses to mean the beginning of a new relationship, but it was pointed out that the specific color could mean something else entirely. Depending on where you live, yellow rose can signify friendship, eternal love, innocence, joy, jealousy, or death. So it seems I don't really have a good answer :/. In this story, I suppose if I have to pick, I'd pick joy.**

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She glanced out the window that night, significantly more relaxed than earlier that evening. She had made a mess of herself during dinner time, more so than usual, to the point that Sebastian wondered out loud if she may be falling ill. The reason she found herself feeling so unstable replayed in her mind.

The encounter with that odd stranger from the woods earlier.

She had never seen a creature like him before. He wasn't human, but it had not frightened her. She felt that many times in her life she had encountered such out of the ordinary creatures.

But none had intrigued her as much as him.

_Jarlaxle_, he said his name was.

Meyrin sat on her bed, knees bent looking out the window, already in her nightgown. Her amaranth hair falling delicately over her shoulders, her glasses atop her nightstand as she admired the sparkling night sky. Had it been real? Had she imagined that there was somebody there? She hadn't noticed anyone else around, and she was beginning to suspect she had simply imagined the dark elvish creature.

She stared out the window as though expecting to see something other than the stars until her eyelids became heavy, and she stretched out in her warm bed to sleep for the night.

The following day went about as expected. The morning was spent doing chores as usual. It was a Sunday, the second Sunday of the month, and that meant her work schedule was slightly different. On that day, just like every other second Sunday of the month, she donned her black long-sleeved top and pants, inappropriate though they may be, and went out far into the woods near the ruins of the old Phantomhive mansion to practice her aim.

It was like this every month. Bard took the first Sunday, Meyrin took the second, and Finny... well, Finny didn't really need aim practice. Neither did the other two servants, but Sebastian insisted they never stop training. Secretly, Meyrin and Bard believed it was a way for Sebastian to get them out of his hair, even for a short while.

The practice time also served the purpose of making sure the weapons were still in good condition. Usually after practice she would spend time cleaning her shotguns and pistols, making sure they were in good shape, and Sebastian would inspect them after.

So she went out carrying several of her weapons. She practiced first with the crossbow, as expected hitting all the usual marks.

She practiced with her shotguns, her pistols, and handguns. When she'd set the last of her handguns down she sighed to herself, "Now to clean each and every one of you..." she mumbled. Finally just for fun before she started the usual cleaning, she reached for her slingshot.

She aimed at a small stone atop a larger snow-covered stone on the ground a few yards away from where she stood. It was not a long distance, but the slingshot only covered so much ground. She could see much farther than that, and would have aimed much farther had she been using her one of her firearms.

She shot at the small stone and sent it ricocheting off to the side, to land in some nearby bushes.

As she bent down to grab another small rock, shaking the snow from it, then aiming at something else, she felt a presence behind her. Thinking herself under attack, she turned around and aimed for whoever the intruder might be, letting go of the stone and immediately going into attack mode.

The intruder dodged the small stone easily, moved off to the side as she sent a kick his way. She flung herself backward in a defensive position further away from the intruder, as she was not very good at hand-to-hand combat. She reached for her glasses at the top of her head to find nothing.

"Interesting instrument," the dark intruder commented.

Meyrin could not see him but recognized his voice immediately. She reached for the handgun in her leg holster and aimed in the direction of the voice, only to find that she could no longer see the man.

Not for lack of eyewear, but because he had literally disappeared. Or so it seemed.

"Why do you wear this?" the voice continued from somewhere behind her, making her whip around aiming high at the trees, only to then hear the voice directly behind her, "It hides your beautiful eyes."

She yelped and turned around quickly once again, tripping on her own feet and falling backward. She would have hit her head on a nearby stone had he not knelt and caught her in time.

"Hello again," he was smirking.

Her heart was beating fast from being startled, and from seeing him again, though part of her had to wonder still if she was imagining him.

At that range she could not see the features of his face that well. His face was a big dark blur. He stared at her eyes, knowing they could not see him as clearly as he could see them. "My my, beautiful indeed."

The same comment seemed to bring her back to reality. She shook her head from whatever trance she had been in the moment she'd landed in his arms and wriggled free, landing on her behind on the grass and backing up on her hands.

"Why so frightened? Do you not remember me? It was only yesterday we met, am I that easy for you to forget?" his tone, feigning hurt, was clearly playful.

"N-no..." she blushed and looked down for a second, afterward regaining some confidence and glancing back at him. "Please give me my glasses back."

Jarlaxle examined the eyewear. He had seen glasses before of course, but he was not done with her just yet. "What, these things? What do you need them for?" he asked, knowing well the answer.

The fact that he was denying her the precious eyewear that she prized so highly was beginning to make her angry. Those glasses were, after all, a gift from the Young Master. She pointed her gun at him once more, this time speaking more menacingly.

"Give. Them. Back."

He assessed her within a second. He'd been watching her earlier with her weaponry, an odd set of toys for a simple maid to play with. But he had seen enough to know that she was not just a simple maid, and he had seen enough to know the damage one of the tiny pieces of metal could cause when fired from that odd shaped metal object in her hand.

He also knew she wouldn't fire. Her hands were shaking, which he knew from watching her earlier was out of the ordinary for her.

He handed her the glasses and removed his hat, giving her one of his signature bows.

"My apologies, I did not intend to upset you so."

She took the glasses from him and quickly put them on, standing up to regain her composure.

"What are you doing here anyway? This area is heavily protected, how did you get in?" she questioned.

"If it is heavily protected, how did I get in so easily?" he got up, keeping his grin. She faced away and blushed.

"That color is quite becoming on you," he took a step forward, only to stop when she held up the gun once again. He held up his hands.

"Meyrin, isn't it?"

She acknowledged him.

"You have never seen someone like me before, have you?"

She shook her head, her eyes darting up and down the stranger quickly, once again catching sight of the muscles he made no efforts to hide.

"Are you curious?"

Her eyes widened at the implications of his tone of voice and she backed away. He took a slow step forward, reminiscent of their first meeting. She took another step back, almost tripping over another stone but catching herself just in time.

"Tch," he shook his head, "If you keep falling I'll have to keep catching you."

"I don't need rescuing," she snapped.

"I can see that. You're quite the marksman. I wonder what someone with your set of skills is doing working as a mere maid,"

She shot him a dangerous glare. It didn't stop him, he knew it was an empty threat.

"That doesn't concern you,"

"Ouch. What's his name?"

"What?"

"Someone with your skills is not working as a maid out of necessity, which implies there is something more that drove you to that career decision. I've narrowed it down to either wanting to escape the lifestyle of a hired assassin, or falling in love. I'll say the latter, considering you have clearly not abandoned your weapons as one would expect were you desiring to escape that lifestyle. So, what is his name?"

Meyrin was quiet, becoming more upset. Now he was twirling around one of her handguns and she had no idea where he'd gotten it from. On instinct, she reached for her other leg holster to find it empty. He grinned.

"You assume too much,"

"Ah, so you aren't married?" He smiled as though she had given him just the information he'd been fishing for.

The maid swallowed.

"I have to go."

"I didn't think you'd be expected back so soon,"

She gave a questioning look.

"Don't you have some cleaning to do?" he offered a sly look in response. Her eyes widened as she realized the implications. She had indeed said she needed to clean the guns, but she thought she was alone.

Clearly not.

"Have you been watching me this whole time?"

"How do these work?" he asked feigning innocence, twirling the gun before looking down the barrel. Meyrin's nostrils flared in concern despite herself, and she rushed forward, slowly reached up for the gun and set her hand over his to take the gun from him. He smiled at the touch. She blushed.

"That's dangerous. You could get hurt by doing that."

"Your intention earlier was to hurt me then?"

She ignored the rhetorical question and the accompanying "pained" look.

"You hold it like this," she demonstrated, modeling the correct way of holding the handgun. He looked her up and down, taking in her posture, then taking the gun when she offered it to him.

"Like this?" he purposely held it the wrong way, his hands somewhat around the barrel pointing it to a tree ahead.

"No," she corrected, holding out her hands for the gun but he wouldn't give it back to her. She corrected his fingers where he held it, repositioning the gun within his hands and manipulating them to hold the gun correctly.

"See?" she said, his face inches from his.

"Ah," he said in 'understanding', turning his head toward her slightly and flashing a smile, eliciting another blush from the woman.

"Your blush is so bright," he teased.

"Your hands are cold."

He chuckled, "Perhaps they need warming up."

She felt goosebumps up her neck. She was about to step away when his arms wrapped around her waist again.

"You were about to trip again. See that rock right beside you?"

She glanced sideways taking note of it, surprised. She couldn't remember the rock being there just before.

"For someone with such impressive weapon skills your awareness of where you set your own feet is quite lacking,"

She swallowed hard, once again his face just inches from hers, but this time she did wear her glasses. His handsome face was no longer a blur, and she remembered why she had been so unsettled the previous day. He truly was a beautiful creature, whatever he was.

"I think you are getting too comfortable with putting your arms around me,"

"Not comfortable enough."

This time she did not gasp, blush, or try to break away.

"You think I'm too clumsy for my own good,"

"I'm starting to think you do it on purpose,"

"And why would I do that?"

"Perhaps you are getting too comfortable having my arms around you,"

There was a pause, a long moment of silence where he observed her face and she tried to think of what to respond.

"I told you before, I don't need rescuing."

"Clearly not. Clearly you are a capable young woman, able to care for herself. But your body doesn't lie. You are clearly not well aware of its movements, its reactions, its responses to my touch,"

"I don't need your touch," she said, not all to convincing.

"Your body tells me otherwise," he winked.

Meyrin's nostrils flared once more. She was about to say something when she heard barking coming their way. Jarlaxle swiftly helped her to stand again, and as Meyrin glanced backward to acknowledge the demon dog, the drow disappeared into the woods once again.

It took Finny to get the demon dog under control and away from Meyrin. As she gathered her guns to return to the mansion, she felt something inside her right leg holster. She reached down and pulled out a single yellow rose.

For what felt like many moments, she simply stared at it in awe, and just as unsettled as she had been the previous evening. She glanced all around in vain, knowing she would not find him. She sighed before returning to the mansion.


	3. Chapter 3

**I don't own anything. Except for owning up to my crazy ideas. Smut maybe, maybe later, because it's Jarlaxle and Meyrin, which makes for two really active sex drives. **

**Yes, yes it does. **

**Don't argue with me on this. **

**If you're reading this you might know the inappropriate thoughts Meyrin probably has like 90.2% of the time, and if you're reading this you might know Jarlaxle is not much different in that aspect, plus other stuff.**

**Again, I am insane for writing this. I feel like I'm creating a crack in the fabric of reality...**

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Christmas had passed without much consequence besides the expected celebrations. The servants were all glad that nothing too out of the ordinary had happened. They had not had an attempt against the mansion in over a month, which was in itself strange, but they couldn't complain.

When the new year arrived they had an equally festive time, and even the servants were invited to the Midford estate for the celebration.

It came as a big surprise when upon the end of the first week of the year the Master announced that he would be attending a boarding school. He didn't know quite for how long, but he didn't need to explain to the Phantomhive servants, his private army handpicked by Sebastian himself, this was not for educational purposes. He would be working.

The servants had no say of course, they were to continue doing their jobs as normal, however among themselves they discussed things that they could not discuss, would not discuss, with Sebastian or the Young Master; they were worried. The Young Master was always in danger, they knew this well. How safe would he be in a boarding school, as protected as it may be, if it took them three and Sebastian to protect him in the safety of his own home? They took comfort in the knowledge that Sebastian would be with him.

There was nothing they could do but wait for his return.

It was that second Sunday again, two days after the Young Master had left and taken Sebastian with him, that Meyrin found herself at shooting practice again, shooting at trees and this time not only the agreed upon marks set upon by the butler. She went further than that, shooting at things far in the distance, aiming for even beyond what was part of the property. She could still see that far clearly, as though it were right in front of her.

She needed to vent somehow. She had sworn to protect the mansion with her life, and she had in her heart sworn that she would do the same for the Young Master, whom she had grown to care for deeply. He had saved her after all, from a life of delivering meaningless death. He and that wonderful butler had given her purpose, shown her that her skills were useful for something else, that she could overcome years of brainwashing. She was not just an agent of death. She lived to keep that child safe, to keep him alive. She gladly put her life on the line every day to keep him safe, that boy who had nothing left, but had given her everything.

She continued her routine, taking a shot at a tree branch far off in the distance, breaking it and off it came tumbling down though she was too far away to hear. Immediately she'd regretted it, hoping that that branch hadn't been the home of some birds or squirrels. She started off in that direction to investigate.

It was a long walk, but she was satisfied to see that no animals had been harmed, when she heard the now very familiar voice. She had to be honest with herself in saying that she expected him. Perhaps she'd even been hoping.

"You have excellent aim with that instrument."

She turned her head in the direction of the voice to find the flamboyant individual, his hat off, giving a low bow like he had that other time.

Nobody bowed to the servants. The act confused her, and she took a moment to reflect on why he would be there again. Was he perhaps lonely? Was he lost?

"I bet you have excellent aim with that sword of yours," she observed, referring to a sword he carried this time in a sheath on his belt. She wondered if he had been carrying it before and couldn't for the life of her remember seeing it. She assumed that she had simply not noticed.

"I have excellent control of my sword, dear lady. Would you like a demonstration?" he threw a wink her way.

She realized then the innuendo and was careful to turn away from him as she felt herself blush. She pretended she was still examining the fallen tree branch.

"What sort of being are you?" she asked bluntly.

"I am a dark elf," he said without skipping a beat.

"Where are you from?"

"Far, far away."

"America?" she asked sarcastically.

"I would answer honestly if I knew where that was."

She knew deep somewhere he truly was other-worldly. Like she suspected Sebastian was.

"Are you a demon?"

He laughed out loud at that, bringing a deeper blush across her cheeks and making her narrow her eyes at him, immediately feeling it was quite a stupid question.

"I am sorry," he contained his laughter, "No. I am not a demon. Like I said, I am a dark elf."

She had no idea what that was, or what questions to follow that up with.

"Tell me about dark elves."

He considered this for a second, not for lack of knowing what to say, but because he was surprised at her directness. He knew humans, knew and was ever amazed at their curiosity, especially at how they allowed their curiosity to lead them into trouble.

Was this woman following the same path? He decided on changing the topic.

"There are no dark elves, I assume, in this realm?"

She shrugged, turning to him again.

"If you are the only one of your kind in this world, how did you arrive?"

"You ask many questions."

"You avoid my questions."

"Like you avoided mine,"

She gave a confused expression, "What question?"

He took a few steps, expecting her to move backward and was surprised when she didn't.

"I asked if you would like a demonstration."

She blushed and pouted, "I don't have a sword,"

"Use the weapons you do have."

"My weapons are better in long range attacks. You come at me with your sword and I'll have to shoot you in the hand. It doesn't work the same."

"Try it."

He backed up a little to give her some space, not wanting to strike her down at all. The drow just wanted to have a little fun. The maid still looked at him through narrowed eyes, wondering what exactly he was up to. She shook her head as he withdrew his sword and appeared as though he was waiting for her to attack, though with a grin on his face.

"Shoot," he instructed.

She took aim, all the while shaking her head, thinking that this dark elf didn't know the damage a gun could cause, and she didn't really want to hurt him. It was more likely, she thought, that this was some sort of pissing contest. In her career she'd come across way too many men who'd wanted to prove themselves better than her, a simple woman, at her profession. They'd gone home with less fingers on their pistol hands, only the occasional one in a casket. She didn't ever kill unless she had to.

Taking that into consideration, she began to feel a little angry, and Jarlaxle could see the change in her mood.

"What are you waiting for? Shoot,"

She raised her gun and took a shot that would not hit him, but would graze past him if he didn't move. She expected him to be surprised, to have this silly competition end, to realize that gun against sword was just unfair for both parties.

She didn't expect him to block it.

Her eyes widened and her expression was of shock. At the exact moment that the bullet had begun to pass him, Jarlaxle had raised his sword to deflect it, knowing it would not touch him, but wanting to surprise the woman.

She wanted to ask how on earth he was able to spot her bullet. Jarlaxle was observant, had always been. And he'd been watching her play with those toys for long enough to be able to gage the speed of the small pieces of metal, to begin to estimate time of impact based on speed and distance. It had taken him all that time of watching her, and now he was personally curious, whether carrying one of those things was worth the trouble.

He came at her with the sword than, raising it with both hands and pretending to come at her with a horizontal swing, which she then ducked. She moved quickly behind some trees but he came around, again taking a swing that was too high for the woman, but would still make her duck. He didn't want to hurt her after all, he could tell she had no experience with swordplay.

Meyrin ducked and rolled forward, something he was not expecting given her talents were best used from afar. She rolled right behind him, swinging one leg under his in an attempt to trip him, but the drow jumped forward instead, amused. As he did so she crouched and moved backward, taking another shot, this time to the hand that held his sword. If he had not gaged her target when he did he may have lost a finger. He moved his hand down at the last moment to deflect the bullet with his sword, his eyes widening in an amused expression.

"So we're playing rough then,"

Meyrin didn't know exactly what had made her take that shot. She hadn't intended to hurt him at all, but something inside her... it was an instinct. She was about to apologize when he came forward quickly. It looked like he meant to attack from the front, so she jumped backward and moved to the side diagonally out of his immediate range, unable to predict his next swing. She aimed for the tip of the sword and took her shot, he moved it at the last minute, lowered it. She shot quickly all around him then, in some parts coming very close to actually hitting him. She must have gotten about five bullets that went right past, two by his hat, one by his sword hand, one by his foot and one by the other foot. He jumped for the last two and avoided moving much for the rest, doubting she would actually aim at his person. The sixth bullet was aimed again at the tip of his sword.

She was on a roll now, the quick shooting had him distracted and she still had several bullets left. Now, the drow was in no way inexperienced, trained from the earliest ages, he had more tricks up his sleeve than Meyrin could have imagined.

But she wasn't just a sharpshooter. Also trained from the earliest ages, she was agile, she was attuned to her weapons, and she could improvise. The whole package. She moved in and between trees, running now, jumping back and forth and sideways and only allowing him quick glances at her here and there.

Quick glances were more than enough for the drow's keen ears and eyes to know where exactly she was. She kept shooting even when out of sight, aiming for his sword hand or directly next to it, making the drow work harder than he'd intended to. Had he known this would be like that, he might have removed his cloak and hat sooner. As she hid he took a second to do so, swinging his sword just in time to block another bullet.

Though his sword was magically protected, he wasn't sure how many bullets it could take, and the last thing he wanted to have happen was to actually damage his sword during play with this woman.

The next time he glanced at her, running right across directly in front of a tree, out came a dagger flying toward her.

It seemed that way anyway. She had little time to react. The dagger flew past her and to the tree right behind, and she was too distracted thinking about it to realize that the drow was quickly coming her way, backing her into the tree. The dagger was stuck to the tree right to the side of her head, and the drow quickly covered the space between them, stopping only inches before her. His sword, somehow shortened in length, he held up to her chin, a playful smile on his face. She was breathing hard, the adrenaline rushing through her. He was only sweating a little. He leaned in close.

"I win." A victorious grin on his face.

A click of metal and he felt something thick against his groin.

"Are you sure about that?" Meyrin asked coyly, her chin raised to avoid the tip of the somehow shortened sword, though it was not really touching her skin.

His mouth fell open and he let his sword fall onto the forest grounds, knowing it would later return to him.

"A draw," he raised his hands, appearing completely harmless.

She added pressure to the gun that pointed at his groin. "Are you sure? Because it looks to me like you're unarmed, while I still have my weapon in hand," she uncocked her gun then, more for adding to the noise of metal, rendering it harmless. He backed off just a few inches and she thought it meant he surrendered.

In a movement quicker than any she'd ever seen, he lifted her gun hand above her head and pressed up against her, pinning her to the tree. His free hand moved up slowly, as though to touch her and she expected him to, but instead he wrapped his fingers around the dagger that was still stuck to the tree next to her head and freed it.

She held her breath.

"Do I look unarmed to you?" He traced the blade along her skin without breaking it, along her features, down her neck, and lower to her bosom, finally resting over her heart. He looked directly into her eyes, playfully, grinning.

"Fine," she said through clenched teeth. "A draw."

His smile widened. He slid the tip of his blade in just to penetrate the top layer of her shirt.

She gasped a little in shock, her eyes growing wide at his actions. His knife went deeper to the next layer of clothing she wore, still not touching skin, but ruining her shirt. She knew he wouldn't touch her skin with his blade, he was taunting her, she could tell he wouldn't hurt her physically, but his next cut would most likely be across and he'd keep going until he'd exposed her completely. The nerve of this man!

"_You win!_" she cried out, resting her head back against the tree and sighing in relief as he retrieved the knife and slowly brought down his hand, releasing hers. His sword was somehow at his side again even though he had not replaced it himself. He took the gun from her hand and the woman, too shocked from what had just happened, let him put it back in its holster on the side of her thigh, even allowing the fact that he lingered perhaps a second too long. He backed away, knowing she would not harm him, knowing she was not vengeful like that, turned around, and walked away toward the small area where he'd left his items. He put his cloak back on and grabbed his hat.

He was already a bit away when he called out, waving an arm as though waving goodbye, "I always find a way to win, my lovely lady. Remember that!"

Meyrin watched him walk away.

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**Maybe the next chapter will be from Jarlaxle's perspective...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Please forgive my absence. Stuff has been happening, and I just don't get the chance to write as often as I used to.**

**Also, I am trying to write the characters themselves as canon as possible, I really am... but realize it's my perspective, and I realize that different readers have different interpretations.**

**Sorry if this chapter is kinda dry too... For those of you who still read/have begun reading this, I really, really, really appreciate it :)**

**There may be some mature content later on... just FYI!**

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It had been months since the drow had discovered the new plane, by happy accident really. Upon discovering a portal in one of the many caves of the complex occupied by Bregan D'aerthe, a group of the mercenary band's highest ranking wizards led by Kimmuriel Oblodra had painstakingly investigated. When they had decided to send one of their lowest ranking members through the portal, Jarlaxle had almost been expecting the new recruit never to return.

He had not expected such good news.

A new world. A different plane, it seemed. A small group was sent through. Scouting missions proved promising. This new world was not without its threats. There weren't many cave complexes, so they'd had to create them. There was different technology, but they would learn to use it and would learn to profit from it. It was inhabited by humans, who were generally no threat to a dark elf. But it was also inhabited by demons, death gods, and possibly other creatures that the dark elves had not yet been made aware of.

For many tendays they had investigated, and many tendays after that they had concluded where they would make the most profit, at first anyway.

Relative to where the portal opened, the city of London stood in all its glory. Its leader was identified, a woman, a Queen. But the drow, who were not new to politics, deduced that she did not rule alone, and that she did not rule as the Matron Mothers did in their homeland, though she did seem to keep an otherworldly creature as her advisor. It was different, but this world would undoubtedly prove profitable.

It was Kimmuriel who pointed out to Jarlaxle what seemed like a glitch, or a weak link in the chain of command. They had a child in charge of keeping the dirty secrets of the royal family, of maintaining order in the underground world. A child! Apparently, somewhat like in Menzoberranzan, political power ran in families, and this child had inherited his family's name, fortune, and responsibilities.

Now, Jarlaxle was never one to underestimate or jump to conclusions about anything without a thorough assessment first. It was when he got close to the living quarters of the child, a noble by the name of Phantomhive, that he detected the magic guarding the place.

It was not the type of magic that was commonplace in the Underdark, or anywhere else he knew of in Faerun. It was clearly demonic, but not like any demon he knew of until that point. The child had at least one demon guarding the place, one disguised as a butler. Jarlaxle couldn't get near without compromising his operation, and he had yet to investigate the rules of the new world more thoroughly, how their magic worked. Kimmuriel did not deem the possible profits worth the risk, but Jarlaxle felt there was something to be gained still.

It was as the latter tested out how close he could get to the actual place without alerting the demon butler that he had spotted the maid for the second time.

He had spotted her before as he and a few others scouted the town, but he had not given her a thought since. It had only been a day, but Jarlaxle had not really been paying attention to the woman. She was just a human after all, beautiful yes, but by all his observations on the day that he first encountered her, she was a simple and modest maid, and Jarlaxle knew the limited use of simple women, beautiful as they may be. He had nothing to gain.

On their second meeting, he knew he had missed the mark by far. He saw her near the Phantomhive child's territory, and it did not take long for the drow to put the pieces together. His interest in the pretty maid piqued, and he started to think of how he could use this new knowledge to the profit of Bregan D'aerthe.

Through his encounters with her, he quickly learned to assess the beings in that plane. They all looked human, and most of them were, some of them weren't, but even some the mere humans, at least those who served the Phantomhive child, seemed to possess certain sets of skills that made them deadly to those not perfectly familiar with the environment.

Aside from the demon butler, there were five others guarding the place.

There was an old man who appeared to mostly relax all day every day, possibly a figure of authority or to keep the morale, possibly someone who was in charge before he aged and the younger ones took his place. Jarlaxle didn't yet know for sure.

He had caught a glimpse of the giant dog, a demon, and he had seen how the gardener, by all appearances a small human boy, wide-eyed and with an air of innocence, exercised perfect control of the beast.

Occasionally there was a white-haired nude male in the gardens, which struck Jarlaxle as the strangest of things he had yet seen in this plane, until he identified him as the same demon dog. A shapeshifter.

He had seen the chef from afar, a scruffy-looking man who did not stand out by any standards. He had yet to learn where his true talents lay, for they certainly did not involve preparing meals.

And then there was the pretty maid. A beautiful, incredibly clumsy woman with striking eyes, small full lips that seemed to pout in embarrassment more than smile, and with a toy collection that quickly became an object of fascination to the drow.

Smaller than a blunderbuss and much more effective, those handguns were quicker than a crossbow, deadly as a sword if used correctly (and cleaner), convenient to carry, and he was sure he could minimize their size as he was sure he could do something about the awful noise. He was also sure he could fashion the missiles out of a deadlier metal, possibly fill them with poison or sleeping potion...

The Phantomhive child had clearly surrounded himself not with servants, but with an army.

So as his scouts secured connections with lesser but promising contacts, some with people in the Queen's command, some with individuals in the underground world, Jarlaxle continued scouting the Phantomhive mansion. He needed information about the demon butler.

"Why do you keep coming here?" he heard the soft voice behind him, right where he had been expecting her.

"I get lonely, dear lady."

For once, she did not blush. "N-nobody calls me lady, you know, not usually anyway..." he heard her take a few steps toward him. "I am a servant of the Phantomhive Mansion."

Rather than self-depracating, her words held such pride that, if Jarlaxle hadn't been sure it was an admirable position before, he would have received the message then. It may have been an opportunity to dig for information, but instead...

"I would like to try an experiment with you."

He could imagine the confused expression on her face without turning around.

"What kind of experiment?"

He turned slowly to face her, and it was then that she caught sight of the small crossbow in his hand. Her face hardened and in the blink of an eye her glasses were resting at the top of her head, she had her handgun pointed at him, cocked, her finger on the trigger. The drow smirked.

"You don't think I mean to attack you?" he feigned pain in his voice and a hand moved to above his heart. "After all the good memories we've shared?"

Her face relaxed but she did not lower her gun, and she stood without moving as if waiting for an explanation.

"This is a crossbow. It is very convenient for... well, it would be quite unecessar-"

"I know what a crossbow is," she squinted, "but I've never seen one that small before." She took a couple small steps to the side, not quite decreasing the gap between them, but getting herself in better position to attack, he noted. He remained in his spot. This time, he would make her seek him out.

Jarlaxle offered a grin, finger lingering over the crossbow as if showing off its features. Meyrin glanced down at it and at him repeatedly, each time she glanced at the crossbow she looked at it for longer.

"May I?"

The soft tone of voice and just a hint of excitement in her eyes as she asked that simple question told him he had been right in guessing that weaponry was an appropriate choice of bait. It excited him as well at a small level.

"Only if you promise not to hurt me."

"Do you promise not to hurt me?"

"You have my word."

"What good is your word?"

Again, Jarlaxle feigned being hurt, but inwardly he smiled at the quite appropriate question. A drow's word was never, never to be trusted. Of course, she didn't need know that.

"Very well," he said, a slightly saddened expression on his face, and with a quick command he made the crossbow disappear, from her perspective at least. Her eyes widened.

"W-what did you just do?!"

He shrugged. She took a step toward him, taking a hand off her gun and lowering it to the side. She simply looked at him, wide-eyed and almost disappointed, more surprised and shocked.

"You do not trust me," he explained.

She opened her mouth as though to say something, then shut it, then opened it again to speak, stuttering, "I d-don't know you! How can you expec- H-how did you do that?"

"I can do many things that I cannot simply explain," he lowered his head and played with the rim of his hat.

"Try,"

"You have your talents and I have mine."

"Are there more of you in the forest." It was a statement more than a question.

"No." They were everywhere else but nearby. She didn't need to know that.

"Are you going to use your 'talents' against me?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

The drow couldn't help the lewd smile. "Whether you'd let me."

She blushed and looked away for only a second. "I d-d-didn't mean-"

"I know," he interrupted. "I am sorry. You are too easy to have fun with."

She did not look happy. She clutched her gun tightly, her finger going to the trigger without pointing it up again.

"You want to play with my crossbow?"

Again, her eyes widened and she took a step back. She clearly believed he was being lewd, again.

He took out the crossbow again, apparently from somewhere under his cloak and offered it to her. She calmed and breathed more easily, relaxing her shoulders and walking toward him slowly. He did not let go of the crossbow until she put her gun away and let him take her hand and guide her to grasp it appropriately. He could see the excitement in her eyes, like a child with a new toy. He found it somewhat endearing, and very beneficial for him, as it meant he could easily impress her. When she had gripped it and he guided her on the mechanics of it, she looked at him with a question on her face, and he gave her the answer she clearly hoped. He nodded. She aimed at a nearby tree and took a shot.

That time when she glanced at him with a genuine smile on her face, he was surprised he had not noticed exactly how her level of excitement had increased so fast. She still wore the soft blush on her cheeks, but now in addition to that, her chest heaved, and there was some slight perspiration showing above the hem of her shirt around her neck near her collarbone. He studied her stance as she took the next few shots, each time firing further and further away and before he knew it, before he realized how long he'd been observing her, she had made a shot at such a distance that she had apparently even surprised herself.

The small crossbows were not meant to shoot at the same distances or with the speed of her handguns, but Jarlaxle's were enchanted, as was nearly everything he owned, and he had enchanted his crossbow specifically to test this petite woman.

When he looked up and realized that even with his enhanced eyesight he could not see the distance of the shot, he was surprised at himself for being truly impressed with her, impressed to the point of speechlessness, and apparently his mouth was a little open. He didn't suppress this in time. She noticed it, and for the first time since he'd met her, she gave him a cocky smirk.

That afternoon they spent hours mostly wandering the woods (she said she was running perimeter checks), talking about weaponry. He had seen many of her toys already, they were not that different, mostly variations of the same type of weapon, with the same mechanisms.

His weapons, on the other hand, were far too many to count, and far too rare to tell her about even half of them. He mostly focused on hearing her speaking, once she had warmed up to him. Jarlaxle knew such talk would open her up, he just didn't know it would get her so excited emotionally. Only the warrior women he had met would get so excited when such talk of weaponry was brought up in conversation. He knew the types of circumstances that would place a person in such a position in his world. But in hers, he was still intrigued, and her story was not one she cared to share. Almost as soon as Jarlaxle had asked something personal, he saw her tense up, and her answer was vague and dismissive. Jarlaxle let it go.

Toward the evening and as it was getting dark, the maid excused herself and for the first time offered him a sincere smile as she waved farewell.

That very night, thirteen men, handsomely paid and well-trained, attacked the mansion. The child was gone and the demon with him, but that was not the object. Jarlaxle, with Kimmuriel inside his mind, witnessed the household staff in action. The chef stood atop one tower giving orders to the other two, effectively protecting his area. The small boy, the one blessed with supernatural strength, almost didn't need to protect himself from anything. He fought on the grounds, hand to hand, and whether he was surrounded and got hit by multiple enemies it was as though he did not feel a thing. They were impressive. But Jarlaxle's eyes were not on them.

The maid, looking so prim and proper in her clean and pressed uniform, was the most exciting creature of the group. Her skirt was raised and held by a button on one side to allow for improved movement and access to the handguns she kept on the holsters around her thighs. Did she always carry them around even while doing housework? Her expression was intense as she focused on her targets, and one by one they fell.

No, they ran, Jarlaxle realized. She was not shooting to kill, she was shooting to scare them away. She was an assassin who did not like to kill!

Jarlaxle thought of an old friend from his past, and he could not help but draw certain parallels. This woman, this hired assassin, had a set of moral codes that she lived by, much like his old friend. But unlike his old friend, the maid Meyrin did not appear to be emotionally shut off. Whatever circumstances, whatever trauma, or whatever necessities had led her to the life she had, she was still able to smile, laugh, and generally be more or less naive about the world.

She was somewhat childlike in her innocence, and yet, he watched how with intense determination and cool calculation she aimed and shot at the hands of those pointing a gun at her and her colleagues. She would not kill them unless she absolutely had to.

Jarlaxle watched as one by one the thirteen men Kimmuriel had sent to test the defenses ran away, certainly to be killed by agents of Bregan D'aerthe for a failure that was inevitable.

Nevertheless, by the end of the night, Jarlaxle was sure that he could not only replicate but improve the handgun. Bregan D'aerthe had yet another asset. Kimmuriel would be pleased. And that night, after he had met with Kimmuriel and with the child and the demon butler still gone, Jarlaxle found his way to the maid's bedchamber. She was in bed but was having trouble sleeping. The light was off and her glasses rested on the nightstand. He was not that surprised at all when she opened her eyes and sat up in her bed, and rather than point her gun she greeted him with a passionate kiss.


End file.
